Would you like more evidence of how BIZARRE my school is?

Picture this: it is my all-girls' school's 125th Anniversary on Thursday. Many girls are playing instruments at the concert to celebrate. All are singing O Fortuna, a song at some ungodly pitch that will either be really, really good or absolute crap and a song written especially for our school. The music to this piece is awesome. Really, the chords and harmonies and choir bits? Although in Latin and a leetle pretentious, very nice.

But the words.

We are the quiet acheivers
We are the guiding hand
The future guadians of this wide and fragile land
With years of knowledge behind us
And light to guide our way
We have the power to change
Tomorrow today

Yeah. I know. Don't even let me begin to disect it, I'm sure you can do that by yourself.

Here is a translation of it:

We are the only people able to solve Global Warming and we're going to do it in Latin, bitch.

BUT because the darling music department who has worked wonders on this concert wants us all to sing beautifully, they have decided to not let us strain our voices for the two days leading up to the concert.

Unfortunately, the Athletics Carnival is tomorrow, two days prior to abovementioned concert.

Oh no! What are the music department to do?

I KNOW

Let's ban cheering from the Athletics Carnival Event so the precious girls won't strain their voices!

But how will we judge who wins the Spirit Cup, normally awarded to the hosue with the most enthusiasm and the best cheers?

SOLUTION!

Silent cheering.

The girls can make synchronised movements and not a word!

It's brilliant!

So quiet we might be able to hear a pin drop!

It will be smashing!

Yes. You heard correctly. Silent. Cheering.

Hooray.

Wait, no cheers. I mean *dances quietly to signal enthusiasm*.

Ahem.

Silver Afternoons

Alisha and I were looking. Again.

I didn’t know what for. Neither did she. We were just looking. Searching for something that wasn’t there.

That was the great joy of being with Alisha. She didn’t need a reason to look for something lost. She didn’t need to lose something to have to look for it. She didn’t need other people. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was announced that Alisha could survive on nothing but Pringles and Diet Coke for the rest of her life.

Alisha and I were best friends, awkward around most other people. I think that’s why we became friends in the first place - neither of us fitted in with anyone else, but we fitted perfectly with each other; her with her obscure literary references that no one understood, and me with my constant cross-examination of human behaviour. Alisha was the ideal sample test, psychologically speaking, for the simple reason that she couldn’t care less, which I always put down to the amount of caffeine being pumped through her veins. She also had a lot of personality to cross-examine, and her passionate emotions kept me entertained for years.

“I found it, Micky! Just where I put it.”

“What did you find?” I replied, crawling out from under her burgundy bed.

“I don’t know, but I feel like I’ve found it. I’m grown intellectually because of it, yet I can still enjoy the simple pleasures that bubble wrap holds. I’m healthier but lazier, smarter but more naive. I can keep my head while my thoughts spin others’. It was lost treasure and now it is mine.”

“Fantastic. Can we eat now?”

“Yes. Yes we can.”

I smiled as she pulled out a Mountain Dew from her sock drawer. I had come to the conclusion that many were hidden around her room, but I’d long since given up looking for them.

Alisha never got stressed by school work. For her, I think school work was like a break from the activity her brain usually had to cope with. Alisha wrote stories in her spare time. Less like stories, actually, more like novels. She didn’t think the pressure she put herself under for these private projects was stress, so much as spring cleaning for her head. When her brain had heaved up too much information and imagination for it to be of any more use to her, it shut down completely, leaving her curled up in a little ball of frustration for me to unravel and dust off.

We shared the Mountain Dew in comfortable silence. Alisha would hesitate occasionally and frown slightly, and then continue to consume the sugary drink.

“I wonder how much Mountain Dew someone could drink before they were so hyper they couldn’t stand up?” I pondered out loud.

Alisha leaned back against her desk leg and closed her eyes. “Micky, you don’t need Mountain Dew to fall over. You’re uncoordinated as it is.”

“Why, thank you for that unexpected show of support.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

She smiled contentedly and folded her arms. Cobra Starship was blaring in from her sister’s room next door. Her eyes flew open with delight.

“Let’s play a game.”

“Alisha, we’re sixteen.”

“I know – you came to my pathetic excuse for a party. Let’s play a game.”

I sighed. Arguing with Alisha was like wrestling with a pot plant - futile and pointless. She was the boss in any situation. Anyone who dared think otherwise would be exterminated for their own good. I liked being bossed around by Alisha. She was good at it. Alisha was the most wonderful person on Earth to me. I didn’t love her, oh God, no. If I had, she’d have beaten me up. Every boy wanted Alisha, but she was “above normal things, especially boys”. She always said that she didn’t want to be swept off her feet. She wanted to sweep someone else off their feet. I had considered pointing out that she did this by just walking down the street, but had decided against it for personal safety reasons.

“Ok, what kind of game do you want to play? Monopoly? Charades?”

“No. Those games are boring. Whoever created them was deficient in the creative-slash-vibrant department. We’re going to play an Alisha Game.”

“Explain the rules.”

“There aren’t any. We make it up as we go along.”

Days with Alisha were spent like this. They were good days. Golden Mornings. Silver Afternoons. Violet Nights. Always colourful, like her. Any day with Alisha was a fantastic day. Even if all we did was play Nintendo and laugh at stuff on TV, it would still be a really good day. Alisha made every day for herself. The sky was smothered under a thick cloak of clouds and the grass stretched itself over the garden, trying in vain to catch some sun that might accidentally wander over its territory. I would make terrible jokes and she would laugh.

In hindsight, Alisha probably did love me after all. And I probably loved her. I don’t mind that I’ll never know. I’m happy not knowing.


*******

To clarify, this is my English short story. Alisha is based on expectofuckingpatronum.tumblr.com

Real Alisha, I hope I haven’t offended you, but what I know of your personality is fantastic and makes a great story. <3

*******



awwww!
polka dots. nom nom nom.

So, what has happened of late?

Since the loss of my best friend Jazamina, who now attends an English boarding school, I have been retreating further and further into the virtual world and slowly losing contact with the real one. Jaz was the only one who was half as obsessed with Doctor Who/Alex Day/to a certain extent Harry Potter as me and now I can only discuss with Tumblings on tumblr. People at school constantly approach me and either make fun of/try to support but really make fun of my youtube videos and/or blog.

I am reading more, listening to more secluded music more often, spending more time alone and doing generally nothing. I put more thought into what I say in class. I say more productive stuff in class. I listen and learn in science. I create things in my spare time. I play the piano significantly better and the saxophone significantly worse. I sleep little and read to try to compensate. I think a lot more. I'm trying to look after my body, but it is consistently rebelling under my not-so tyranous rule. I have more friends. People think I'm less weird. No, rephrase that. Less people think I'm weird.* I'm closer to my friends but I'm further from them than I've ever been before. I talk and work but I feel like every day does not fit into a continuum of time, but rather stands on its own in a timeless entity that ends when I see the next episode of Doctor Who. This sorts out my brain and makes me reevaluate my options somewhat, before I relapse into a dreamlike state, bludging my way through mathematics homework haphazardly.

Well, you *did* ask.



*PS, yes, I know. I made a grammatical error here. It was done with poetic license in mind, silly.


PPS, someone from school wants me to mention her on my blog. Sweetheart, much as I admire your taste for the internet text world (because really, who isn't fascinated by my blog**), I won't put your name on here a) for privacy reasons b) just to annoy you.


**PPPS */sarcasm

la moustache

himynameisharrypotter.blogspot.com

I have another blog.

It's Harry's blog, really. But he needs technical help =)

It will be a project to satisfy my inner nerd. Yes, another one.

Australian History

I have an Australian History Test tomorrow.

No one in the year knows what we're learning about.

I've tried listening to Mr Colleen, believe me, I've tried.

I have learnt nothing.

It helps that his teaching methods are out of date and that the subject is so GODDAMN BORING.

A HISTORY OF AUSTRALIA
1. Aborigines lived here for many years and had a generally peaceful time of it.
2. Europeans arrive and f#ck everything up.
3. Europeans f#ck up some more stuff.
4. Australians go and f#ck up other countries in various wars.
5. Prime Minister apologises to Aborgines on behalf of European Australia for being so f#cking narrow-minded.

THE END.

It shouldn't count as a subject! "Proper history and stuff" people have only been here for 200 years, and that's not enough time to come up with an Australian History course! Our history isn't history - it happened yesterday!

So, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and learn the entire year's Aus Hist course in a night and try to expand my knowledge of Australians f#cking up.

a haiku

Music is silly
Expressionism is worst
Die Alban Berg, DIE!

My 100th Post. Now, what to make of it?

I have reached the point where people from my school read my blog - hello :) - and are now mature enough to understand that I spend an inordinate amount of time on the internet.

For others (others being those who are not yet far enough in the evolution cycle to grasp the fact that I spend more time reformatting .IRL emotions into .URL format than is healthy) please stop wasting your time reading my blog. You should probably be studying for a German speaking task or something similar. Stop procrastinating and start working. At the very least, read a Harry Potter book.



"We are men of words. Lies do not become us."

- Westley, The Princess Bride

(For those of you who are interested, my leg has just died.)

formspring.me/luvinginsanity

ask questions. i'll answer obscurely.

Justin Bieber is more than a little bit silly.

Harry and Gemma: Afraid of the Drunk

Harry and Gemma lived on the edge of the 1890 Acre Wood in England. They lived in a small cottage on the fringe of Queen Victoria’s society. Harry spent his days playing pirates next to the spring that ran past their house and Gemma preferred to play with her homemade dolls. When they weren’t playing alone, they were being very, very naughty. Their father, Gordon, was a socially awkward man, and did not fit in with the other citizens of the village – in fact, he was the village idiot, who spent his money from his apple orchard as soon as he received his pay. He was very lucky to have even received a job with his track record of late – he had gone through six jobs in the past few months due to lewd behaviour. His first wife had unfortunately died due to a badly bruised apple incident which he refused to give comment on. He had remarried to Felicity Martin, who had been the governess of the village school, until she had married Gordon, whereupon she was legally unable to continue teaching. However, as a good stepmother to the children, she did attempt to instruct them on the finer points of English society. Being the very naughty children that they were, Harry and Gemma often got into trouble. If they were given tea, it would be thrown on Felicity. If they were given teacakes, it would be thrown on Felicity. If they were given potatoes, they would be thrown on Felicity; however the children soon learned that the bruises Felicity received from this latest form of torment were met with consequences.

As punishment for their disregard of table manners, Harry and Gemma were ordered to go and pick some berries from the 1890 Acre Wood, because the apple orchard had been doing very poorly under Gordon’s special watering techniques, which involved something that he regurgitated.

Harry and Gemma set off with baskets to be filled with blueberries. However, being the naughty children that they were, they decided to pick raspberries instead, since they were not in season. On their return home, they heard Felicity speaking to Gordon.

“These children are horrid, Gordon! Have you seen the bruises on my forehead from the potatoes they throw at me?”

“Throw spuds back at ‘em, woman!”

“I refuse to use capital punishment. Especially with ground vegetables!”

“Orright, woman, keep your hair on! I’ll talk to ‘em this evenin’.”

The naughty children trembled with fright at the thought of their father having to string coherent sentences together, and ran quickly back into the 1890 Acre Wood, throwing themselves into a tree hollow. Little did they know that this was no ordinary hollow, this in fact was the secret hideout of the evil elves. These elves were very disgruntled that Gemma and Harry had entered their sanctuary of mischief. They set out to capture the naughty children to cook them up for the Royal Feast, the King’s favourite was naughty children. However, the King was not used to such naughtiness, and found even the sight of Harry and Gemma made his tongue feel furry. He roared with such haughtiness that the children had never experienced before, making them quiver with excitement. They had never had dinner and a show! The King was taken aback by the children’s laughter, it was like poison to him!

He ran to the children and said to them, “Be still! You’re naughtiness is making my tongue furrier!”

They laughed even harder at the King’s furry tongue, and laughed even more when they spotted his ear where his belly button should have been.

The King, to get away from their naughtiness, jumped into a cauldron, he exploded into flames instantaneously. The other elves, seeing the children, said “You killed our King! You are our new leader! Here is some gold!”

The children, after ignoring their step mother, did not know what gold was and did not realise its monetary value. They ran away from the elves because they believed that gold was poison. After wandering about the wood for many more hours they came across their house, where they continued to be naughty until their stepmother perished in another unfortunate apple incident.

Harry and Gemma and their lewd father lived naughtily ever after... That is until they were accused of lewd behaviour...

THE END

We have a PE dance composition assessment

So, being the nerdy child I am, I have choreographed the entire dance to A Thousand Hours by Alex Day.

I'm so proud of myself for convincing my classmates to dance to a song by a nerdfighter =D

And I actually feel awright about this assessment.

Fare thee well, weary traveller.


For in dreams, we are in a world entirely of our own.